


I don't think I could dream you up

by astraldylan



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraldylan/pseuds/astraldylan
Summary: “What if none of it was real? Our time on the Hephaestus, our time here on Earth. What if this is some kind of crazy, weird fever dream we’re trapped in?”Lovelace removes her hand from Minkowski’s shoulder and cups her cheek. Her hand is warm and comforting. Minkowski places her hand over Lovelace’s and leans into it slightly.“Oh, Renée, we’re not. You know how I know? Because I don’t think I could dream you up.”





	I don't think I could dream you up

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this post by captain-lovelace on tumblr: https://captain-lovelace.tumblr.com/post/158052613973/ok-i-keep-seeing-that-post-about-eiffel-and

Minkowski pulls the blanket over her shoulders and stares at the dimly lit wall in front of her.  She stares at nothing in particular. Everything feels disjointed; nothing is quite right. It takes her a few moments to realize that Lovelace has sat up beside her.

 

“Renée?” Lovelace puts her hand on Minkowski’s shoulder. Her grip is firm, grounding. It redirects Minkowski’s attention from the wall. Sort of.

 

She turns and looks at Lovelace, and gives her as much attention as her brain will allow. Her mind is foggy, filled with assorted thoughts; all of them are fragmented, splintered, but they follow the same theme.

 

“Is any of this real?” Minkowski mumbles, looking into Lovelace’s eyes. She observes the shadows across her face as well as the mild concern in her eyes.

 

“What?”

 

“This. Here. Us, together. Home on Earth.” Minkowski’s words are an accurate vocalization of her current internal state: dislocated and existential.

 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Before she opens her mouth again, she needs to collect her thoughts into a coherent sentence or two.

 

“What if none of it was real? Our time on the Hephaestus, our time here on Earth. What if this is some kind of crazy, weird fever dream we’re trapped in?” 

 

Lovelace removes her hand from Minkowski’s shoulder and cups her cheek. Her hand is warm and comforting. Minkowski places her hand over Lovelace’s and leans into it slightly.

 

“Oh, Renée, we’re not. You know how I know? Because I don’t think I could dream you up.”

 

Upon hearing this, Minkowski gently takes Lovelace’s face in her hands and kisses her. Her lips are warm and soft. Minkowski leans in more and more, pulling Lovelace closer to her. She wants to get as close to Lovelace as possible. Lovelace, it seems, feels the same way as she pushes against her and kisses her with equal fervor. They continue like this as long as they can for neither of them wants to stop.

 

It’s only when her lungs are burning too intensely for her to ignore that Minkowski pulls away. She leans her forehead against Lovelace’s as they’re left both gasping for breath. She notices that Lovelace has been crying. Minkowski slowly wipes the tears away with her thumb. Lovelace does the same; apparently Minkowski has been crying too.

 

There are a million things Minkowski wants to say in this moment. She wants to tell Lovelace how much she means to her. She wants to tell her that she’s the best damn thing that ever happened to her. She wants to tell her that she’d do anything for her. She wants to tell her that she doesn’t know what she could’ve done to simply  _ know _ a woman as extraordinary as Isabel Lovelace. The problem, though, is that there aren’t enough words in every language combined to adequately describe just  _ how much _ Isabel Lovelace means to Renée Minkowski.

 

Minkowski pulls her blanket around Lovelace before pulling her into a hug and resting her head on Lovelace’s shoulder. “I love you more than anything else, Isabel Lovelace _. _ ”

 

Lovelace wraps her arms around Minkowski and pulls her closer. “I love you too, Renée Minkowski, more than words can say.”

 

They fall asleep like this, wrapped in that knitted blanket and each other’s arms. Before she falls asleep, Minkowski thinks about this moment: just her and Lovelace and nothing else. She could live in this moment forever.


End file.
